


Revenge is Best Served Hot

by Irrevocably_Sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, John gets revenge, M/M, Rimming, all is fair in love and sex, and Sherlock loves it, dirty texting, this is what happens when you rim your boyfriend and send him to work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/pseuds/Irrevocably_Sherlocked
Summary: I can’t stop  thinking about you. Your mouth, Sherlock. Jesus.I’ve been half hard all day, thinking about you. You’re probably still in those dammed pajama bottoms aren’t you? Those things are so flimsy I could probably suck you off though the fabric. Should I try?I’d like to try. Push you against the wall and suck your cock through the cotton, get it nice and wet.Sherlock lets out a low whimper reading John’s words. Is this how he plans to repay his shower fun this morning? If so, he’s all for it.





	Revenge is Best Served Hot

**Author's Note:**

> So hello all! Its been awhile! I missed you. I missed our boys. So I'm trying to come back to you all. To start, I am going to be publishing some older smut sunday works that I never put on a03. I hope you will all enjoy! 
> 
> Im still on the tumblr, at @astudyinsnoggy, and I am also on twitter too at the same name. So come say hello, I'd love to chat. <3

The first text pings his phone as he’s starting the timer, but he ignores it, the reaction he is studying extremely sensitive and he cannot afford to break concentration. The next two come in just after the results are recorded, but still he ignores them, most likely they are from John, reminding him to clean up his mess or something equally droll. 

The next time his phone pings he decides to indulge in answering, having nothing better to do than languidly drape himself over the sofa. He swipes his thumb across the screen and notes the time, John should be home within the hour. His messages show four missed all from John, as he suspected. However, the contents aren’t something he’d have deduced. 

_**You’re probably making a mess aren’t you? I hope you clean it up.** _

_**I can’t stop thinking about you. Your mouth, Sherlock. Jesus.** _

_**I’ve been half hard all day, thinking about you. You’re probably still in those dammed pajama bottoms aren’t you? Those things are so flimsy I could probably suck you off though the fabric. Should I try?** _

_**I’d like to try. Push you against the wall and suck your cock through the cotton, get it nice and wet.** _

Sherlock lets out a low whimper reading John’s words. Is this how he plans to repay his shower fun this morning? If so, he’s all for it. While he’s trying to formulate a response, another text comes in. 

_**After you’re begging, I’ll strip those damned pants off, and bend you over the sofa, and spread you. Take my time licking you and opening you up with my tongue, my fingers. Until you’re writhing, desperate for more. Do you want to know what happens next?** _

“God, yes,” Sherlock breathes, now fully hard thanks to John’s filthy texts. 

“Thought you might.” Sherlock whirls around at the sound of John’s voice echoing in the flat. He’d been so intent on his phone, he hadn’t heard him enter. 

“Just as I thought,” John continues, “those damned pants.” He shrugs out of his coat and is across the room in three strides, threading his hands through Sherlock’s hair and crushing their mouths together. 

Sherlock lets out a whimper, grasping ahold of John’s arms and letting himself be ravished by John. John is relentless, nipping and sucking at Sherlock’s lips, his tongue. John breaks away, breathing hard. 

“You, god Sherlock, your mouth, I thought of it all day.” He peppers kisses down Sherlock’s neck between his words, biting down under his jaw. 

Sherlock lets out a low groan, his hands grabbing at John’s back, his hips, struggling to bring him closer. “That was, ah, rather the point,” he pants. 

“Hmm, well. It’s my turn now.” John maneuvers them, pushes Sherlock until his back slams against the sitting room wall. John bites down hard where Sherlock’s neck meets the shoulder, and worries the skin with his tongue, sucking a bruise into his pale flesh. Sherlock keens and tilts his head to the side to give John better access. He snakes his hands around John’s hips, grabbing his arse and pulling him flush against his pelvis, desperate to feel friction on his cock. 

John steps back out of reach, and shakes his head. “John?” Sherlock breathes. 

“No, this is my turn, Sherlock. No touching.” John strips off his jumper and vest, then steps close, pressing kisses to Sherlock’s neck, his ears, his mouth. Sherlock behaves, his hands grabbing at his own thighs to keep from reaching for John. Sherlock’s t-shirt is in the way, So between the two of them it is removed. John leans forward and swirls his tongue first around one nipple then the other, teasing the taut nubs between his teeth. Sherlock throws his head back, his hands clenching at his sides. 

John continues downward, pressing open mouthed kisses down his stomach, pausing to flick his tongue inside Sherlock’s navel, until he reaches his cock, hard and leaking inside the threadbare pants. John nuzzles his nose where the groin meets thigh, and Sherlock inhales sharply, his hands flying to his own head, and tangling in his curls. 

“John,” he sighs. 

“Mmm, so flimsy, these,” John says, and rolls his tongue around the head of Sherlock’s cock through the cotton. He works his mouth around the tip and sucks the length into his mouth, soaking the fabric with his saliva. Sherlock is trying to remain still, but the feeling of John’s mouth on his prick is hot and heavenly, even with the barrier. He rolls his hips forward, and John hums around him, the vibration pulsing through his cock and racing through his veins. John sucks harder, bobbing his head slightly, and it’s glorious, but not nearly enough, he needs more. 

“Oh, John, please, I need-”

John pulls off. Sherlock is breathing hard, and his legs are threatening to give out. “Yeah, love, I know. Strip.” John orders, standing up and removing his own jeans. 

“Couch,” John says in a low growl once Sherlock is bare before him. Sherlock hastens to comply, remembering John’s last text. He kneels on the couch, facing the back, and feels John press up behind him. John trails his tongue across Sherlock’s shoulder blades, pausing to suck a bruise at the nape of his neck, and Sherlock whimpers, his fingers digging into the plush leather. John smirks, “Alright, love?” 

Sherlock can only nod, lost under the pleasure from John’s talented mouth. John moves lower, laving and nipping at each spinal joint, biting lightly at the swell of Sherlock’s arse. He moves lower, his hands grabbing the the plump flesh and pulling his cheeks apart, bending down to lick a broad stripe up the crack. 

“John,” Sherlock moans, rocking his hips back. John presses in further, swirling his tongue around Sherlock’s hole, slow movements that have Sherlock babbling and begging, cries of his name, and “please” falling from his lips. John takes his time, laving and sucking and piercing the trembling muscle, and Sherlock is crying out for more. He moves one hand off the sofa, reaching down his body to stroke himself, only for his hand to be gripped by John and placed back on the leather. 

“No touching, Sherlock,” John growls, circling his finger around Sherlock’s entrance, slick with his saliva.

“Please John, please. I can’t… I want...Oh, fuck me, John, please.”

John groans and reaches for the lube they keep hidden in the sofa. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Sherlock feels the cold drizzle on his hole and shivers, which quickly turn to shudders as John circles his hole again, pushing two fingers inside, opening him up. John’s other hand is intertwined with Sherlock’s on the sofa, supporting him as Sherlock rocks his hips, chasing his pleasure at John’s touch. Two fingers soon turn to three, and when John brushes against his prostate and his vision goes blurry, he knows he needs John inside him now. 

John grabs Sherlock by the hips and pulls him back, entering him with maddenly slow rolls. Sherlock tries to push back, to take him deeper, but John stops, holding Sherlock still, and he knows that this is still part of the revenge. So he waits, panting heavily, and John begins again, short thrusts, each one sinking further until he is fully seated. John leans back and Sherlock moves with him, practically seating himself in John’s lap.

“Now love,” John pants, “move for me.” 

Sherlock spreads his thighs wider, as John wraps one hand around his waist, the other threading into his curls. He begins to move his hips, undulations of his pelvis, each movement causing the heat to course through his veins and pool in his belly. He can hear John breathing heavily behind him, a litany of curses and praise escaping from his lips, his mouth messily smearing kisses over his shoulders. Sherlock can feel John getting closer, he wants to tip him over the edge, he bears down harder, adding a roll at the end and John’s orgasm crashes over them, filling him, his name cascading through the flat. 

With a moan, Sherlock unfolds himself from John’s lap. He’s so close, the slightest touch will push him over the edge. Without warning, he finds himself twisted onto the sofa, sitting, his legs spread, and John swallowing him down. Sherlock cries out, his hands instinctively coming up to cradle John’s head as it bobs between his thighs. John lifts one of Sherlock’s legs over his shoulder and presses two fingers inside his loosened hole, rubbing directly at his prostate, and Sherlock is lost, his orgasm careening down on him like a tsunami, white hot and sparkling, and so hard, he thinks he loses consciousness. 

As he comes back down to earth, it is with the feeling of John curled up beside him, his head resting on his shoulder, absently tracing circles on his chest. Sherlock hadn’t realized he had moved. Sherlock turns his head and chases John’s mouth, licking inside and tasting himself on his tongue. 

“John,” Sherlock sighs, “was that your idea of revenge?”

“More of a repayment.”

“In that case, remind me to surprise you in the shower more often.”

John giggles and Sherlock joins in, laughing at the ridiculous games they play. But they both know they wouldn’t have it any other way. Sherlock gets up and pulls John up to him, kissing him gently and tenderly, dragging him toward the bedroom. 

He’s already plotting his his next move. 


End file.
